No Hot House Flower
by Angelique Daemon
Summary: Not everyone is cut out for city life... In fact, overexposure to it can be downright deadly.


**Author's note: **Yep, it's me again... same Dalish Warden. This would come after 'The Hunter and the Hunted'. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Zevran was rather happy, and while he was usually cheerful, he was in an even better mood than usual. They were in Denerim handling a number of rather underhanded tasks, as well as a few 'just and righteous' ones, but he saw no reason to let that spoil it for him. It was raining, and had been for pretty much the entire visit, and while Ferelden was still too cold for his preference, the rain and the rank smell of the city reminded him of home. Oh sure, Antiva City smelled <em>much<em> worse, between the scents of the docks and the tanners, and the pervasive miasma that came in off the delta, but right now Denerim was doing a fairly good job of making a stink itself. There were heaps of trash and refuse, and bodies rotting in back alleys, and the river was swelling under the influence of the rain, bringing the smell of waste closer and closer to the city with every inch it raised, and the incessant wetness was making foul-smelling fungi sprout, and slick the stones of the street. It was perfectly vile and miserable, and the Crow _loved_ it! He turned his head to share some of his cheer with their fearless leader... just in time to see Zilfayirin's eyes roll back in her head, and her body drop lifelessly to the cobbles. So much for it being a good day.

"We've got a problem here," he called out to Wynne and Sten, who had been walking in front of them, likely to escape the Antivan, and he hurried over to the Warden's body. A touch found her pulse, which was reedy but definitely still there. He frowned in confusion, and watched the mage cast a healing spell, still monitoring the other elf's pulse. He waited a moment to make sure the spell was not one with a delayed effect, and then shook his head, "It's not getting any better," he informed her.

The human frowned, and tried another spell... and then another. When nothing seemed to help, she shook her head, "Let's get her back to the inn," she said, "I can't do much for her out here in the cold and wet, and as much as I don't care to admit it, consulting with Morrigan could help, since she's an even better herbalist than I am."

Without a word, Sten moved forward and lifted the younger woman from the ground as easily as picking up a rag doll... and that was exactly what she looked like laying so limply in the qunari's arms. Zevran scanned the area frantically, looking for some place someone could have hid in order to get a shot off, but while he could spot a few locations, he could see no evidence that it had happened. There had been no traps on the ground either, or else she herself would have sang out a warning. Had someone slipped poison into her food at the inn? They had been there a few day, so it would not have been hard to find out where they were staying and arrange it.

He followed the others, having to stretch his legs a bit to keep up with the long stride of the foreign warrior, and turned his thoughts inward, trying to think about where things had gone wrong. She had not complained of anything being amiss, but the assassin prided himself on how observant he was... though it had clearly not been observant _enough_. She had been fine before they got to town, he was sure about that. When they had first entered Denerim she had been overwhelmed, of course, but he had put that down to her being Dalish, and the very good chance that the largest 'city' she had ever seen being Redcliffe Village. She had seemed normal enough when they met Isabella, and she had certainly been herself on the pirate's ship... or as much herself as someone who had never been in a threesome before could be. But she had shown her usual enthusiasm and the same willingness to learn as she had when he taught her assassination techniques. That had still been on the first day...

She had started going quiet on the second, only speaking when absolutely necessary, and resorting to violence a bit quicker than normal. That had suited him fine at the time, but it had never occurred to him that it might be a symptom of something. He had thought she was simply tired of the humans, and their less than respectful treatment of her. The third day, she had seemed distracted, and a bit listless around the edges, but he had put that down to the cold, miserable weather, as she had not been the only one that seemed to be suffering from the weather. Sten's temper had been rather short, as had Morrigan's. That was an interesting thought... the witch had been complaining about wanting to be out of the city, maybe this was her doing? He looked over at the pale arm that had escaped the qunari's grip, and dangled limply... and some part of him said no, it was not the witch's doing. The dark-haired beauty seemed to actually respect, and beyond that even _like_ Zilfayirin, and while she _was_ a cut throat bitch, he did not think she would betray the elf over something so petty as wanting to be out of the city.

Today was... what? The fourth day? Their leader had not listened to his suggestion to switch inns daily, so it was entirely possible, and even likely that someone had been slowly poisoning her. He thought about how she had looked this morning... Her eyes had been dull, which he had not thought possible, given their bright, striking color. She had seemed more listless than usual, and her face had been pinched. In fact they had had to ask her _twice_ who she wanted to go with her into the city to finish their tasks. He had thought she was simply tired... _That_ was another symptom, now that he thought about it. She had seemed so drained, and yet he knew she had not slept much, if at all... _not_ because of him, either. She had not invited him to her room, or snuck into his either, in fact the romp with Isabella had been the last time they had slept together since entering the city. No, the walls were so thin, he had woken in the night more than once to the sound of pacing in the hallway, or in the room next to him, and muttering in Elven. He had not thought much of it, and simply assumed that it was her complaining and being annoyed at being in the human city. Now that he thought about it, there _had_ been dark circles under her eyes, they were just easily overlooked when her _vallaslin_ drew your eyes away from hers.

Speaking of inns, they had reached theirs, and as he had expected, their waiting companions exploded when Sten entered behind Wynne, carrying their unconscious leader. Zevran was not in the least surprised at the way the others flocked around the qunari, like chicks around a mother hen... and the thought made his lips twitch in amusement. Unfortunately, that was the moment that both Alistair and Morrigan happened to look his way suspiciously. _Shit_! The next thing he knew, he could not move... or rather he could not move under his own power, as the senior Grey Warden gleefully proved that he could still move the Crow quite easily. The assassin found himself pinned against the wall, and not in the fun way, with his head reeling from the way his skull impacted against the wood. And today had started out so _well_ too. Truly happiness was easy come, easy go.

"What did you _do_ to her?" the ex-templar demanded, bringing Zevran's attention back to him, "You sneaky little murdering _bastard_! I _knew_ we should have just killed you, and had done with it!"

"I am also questioning our leader's lapse in judgement for bringing you along," Morrigan said, though she had replaced her staff and was now examining Zilfayirin as best she could under the conditions, "Much as I'm loathe to agree with Alistair, it seems to me 'tis likely this could have been avoided with your death."

The elf felt his temper snap, which was indeed a rare things for him, "What have I to _gain_ from killing the Warden?" he growled, "In case you had not noticed, I benefit _much_ more from keeping her _alive_!"

"A likely story!" the human warrior snapped, "How do we know that this isn't part of your plan to get back into the Crows' good graces, huh? I _know_ she's been running around fulfilling their contracts lately! What better way to show that you want back in than to complete your mission?"

"I gave my _word_ that I no longer sought her life," the shorter blonde growled.

"The word of a sneaky, untrustworthy bastard!" the taller man quickly reminded him.

"_Paashara_!" Sten's voice cut across the room like a knife, silencing all in its wake, "Place blame later! Right now the Warden needs tending, let us focus on that, and worry about who to kill once she is no longer in danger."

Zevran had forgotten about the fact that the qunari also respected, and perhaps even _liked_, for a given value of 'like', Zilfayirin. He overcame his surprise before Alistair, and raised his brows, "Truly our large friend speaks wisely," he said mildly, and to his surprise, the human set him down carefully rather than simply dropping him. Truly it was a day of wonders.

"Sten is right," Wynne said, "Let's get her to her room, and see what we can do." With that the mages and the inhuman warrior quickly disappeared up the stairs... leaving the assassin with the angry senior Warden, a fretful bard, and a whining dog. Lovely!

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

It was some time before the mages finally emerged, both of them shaking their heads. Neither Wynne's superior knowledge of magical healing, nor Morrigan's superior knowledge of herbalism had done any good. The older mage rubbed her forehead tiredly as she announced, "She has a fever, so the best we can do is treat her for that, and try to keep her warm."

"If I may?" Zevran asked, drawing a number of angry looks, but ignoring them as he focused on the healer, "I have thought about it, and I believe that she has not slept since we came to Denerim," the looks got angrier, "and if any of the people glaring at me had been even the slightest bit observant, they too would have heard her pacing and muttering to herself."

"The elf is right," Sten said, to everyone's surprise, "She has woken me up at all hours when she passed my room," his eyes narrowed slightly when everyone turned to him, "The walls here are paper thin," he pointed out.

"_I_ never heard anything," Alistair protested.

"_You_ are an idiot," Morrigan snapped at him, and then turned her gaze back to Sten, "I too have heard her in the wee hours, though I thought 'twas simply her rising early."

"Has anyone noticed that she's been getting paler?" Zevran asked, glad that he was not the only one actively thinking about this anymore, "The thought occurred to me that perhaps someone had found out we were here, and had begun slowly poisoning her. It would not be so hard, considering the fact that we've remained in one place for the better part of a week now."

"I have checked for poison," Morrigan said, sounding weary now, "'twas the _first_ thing I did," she added, shooting a tired glare at the assassin, "but if poison it is, then it's not one I've ever encountered before."

"Exhaustion and exposure _could_ account for everything," Wynne pointed out, "After all, I believe she mentioned that her people usually dwell farther north, so she's likely not used to the cold, wet drizzle. Keeping her warm, treating her fever, and letting her rest for a few days should do the trick. Perhaps by the time she feels up to traveling, the weather will change, and it won't be as much of a detriment."

"Still, I think it'd be a good idea to keep a watch on her," Zevran said, "If for no other reason than there _are _poisons in the world that the lovely Morrigan has never encountered, and it is better to be safe than sorry."

"Barkspawn can keep watch over her," Alistair said, and the dog lifted his great head to bark in agreement, "He'll keep anyone from getting to her."

"And that is all well and good," the Crow agreed, still faintly amused by the name their leader had chosen for the mabari, "but how exactly would he tell us if something was wrong? If she was starting to get worse? Of course, he could always howl, but how exactly would he open the door and seek someone out specifically, rather than simply getting us kicked out of the inn for making noise?"

"He is right," Leliana said, "It _would_ be better to have a _person_ in the room to keep watch on her..." she shot the dog an apologetic smile when he whined sadly, "Not that you're not a person in your own way, you... just don't have thumbs... and can't talk."

"We'll set up a rotation," Wynne said wearily, "Morrigan and I will do what we can on our watches, but if she doesn't recover in a few days, we'll have to think of something else."

"I'll take first w-" Zevran started to offer before Alistair cut him off.

"No! Absolutely _not_!" the human protested, "That would be _just_ the chance you need to finish the job!"

The Crow rolled his eyes, "Are you _still_ on about that? Seriously Alistair, you need to let that go already."

"Let it go?" the ex-templar raged, "You tried to _kill her_!"

"In the _past_," the elf replied, crossing his arms, "I have fought and bled for her _just_ as you have," he snapped, "and I have kept her _alive_, just as _you_ have, so _shut up_!" There went that temper he had been having a problem with recently.

"I think we should let Zevran take a turn," Leliana said, surprising the group with her support, "he's right, and it's not fair to slap him back every time he tried to do the right thing. How do you expect him to be encouraged to be a better person, if you punish him every time he tries?" The entire group, minus Sten, was looking at the bard like she had lost her mind. "What?" she sighed, "But if it'll make everyone happier, let Alistair have first watch."

"That is fair," the Antivan said, "it will give me time to go feed the hungry, and give kittens to orphans."

"Really?" the redhead asked brightly.

"No."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Zevran was reading the journal he had pinched from Leliana while he sat his watch that night. It was _fascinating_ how she recalled events and reported them. While he knew they were true, the way she chose to describe them and assign emotional impact to things was more than a little amusing. The 'merry little grass heads bowing respectfully before the Wardens as they passed' had him snickering into his hand.

A sound drew his attention, and he lowered the book to see Zilfayirin's head turn towards him, her face scrunched as though in pain. He quickly set the journal aside and leaned forward, gently brushing the hair from her eyes, "My Warden?" he asked softly.

She groaned again, and her eyes cracking open slightly. She licked her lips and frowned before croaking, "Zevran?" in what was barely a whisper.

"I am here," he assured her, quickly getting to his feet. He poured some of the herb concoction Morrigan had left into a cup and then returned to the bedside, "If you think you can stand sitting up, I have something you should drink." Her eyes fell on the cup, and her nose wrinkled, the expression making him chuckle, "I know, but it is necessary, yes?"

She sighed, and her pitiful attempt to sit up had him sliding an arm around her to help her. She took the cup, and gave it a fiercely hateful look... which she shifted to her shaking hand... and then drank the concoction as quickly as possible. Surprise moved over her features when it did not taste _as_ bad as she had feared, but she quickly returned the cup to the Antivan's waiting hand before looking over at him. "Zevran... get me out of here..." her eyes closed, and she leaned against him a bit more, "Even if you don't understand just... get me _out_ of this horrible place. I need..." she turned slightly and gripped at the straps of his armor, her eyes a hint too wide, "I need the open air! The landscape! The grass under my feet!"

"Of course, my Warden," he answered without hesitation, "but allow me to get my pack," '_and leave a note, so they do not come charging after me to kill me_,' he added to himself.

"Hurry," she said, releasing him, and flopping back down on the bed, as though the strength had been drained from her body. She suddenly seemed to small, and altogether too pale. As the Antivan quickly left the room, he was reminded of something that had happened before he had been sold to the Crows. He snuck stealthily into his room, making no noise as he gathered supplies, his mind wandering.

He had asked one of the older whores about his mother, since he never knew her and she was curious. Rosa had always been kind to him, and had always looked out for the new girls, so she seemed the person to ask. She had regarded him for a moment, and then tapped the ashes from her cigarette, "Do you remember the orchid Jasmin got from a customer?" at his nod, she continued, "It was taken from its homeland, uprooted and replanted somewhere unsuitable, so it withered and died," she had paused to take another draw off her cigarette, and blew out the smoke before saying, "As the orchid, so your mother," she shook her head, "Some flowers cannot live in hot houses, _querido_." He had not understood at the time, as he could not have been more than six, but after watching Zilfayirin, a woman he was sure was _far_ stronger of spirit than his mother had been, wilt, he thought he had a better grasp on the concept.

He finished gathering his pack, and then scrawled a quick note on one of the random blank scrolls they always seemed to have laying around. He left his room, and slid it under Sten's door, since he was sure the qunari would notice it and read it, before heading back to their leader's room. She was laying curled up in a ball and shivering. Damn it, taking her out into the cold was going to get him skinned alive by Wynne... but he could not leave her here either. He was sure that she would not die from this, at least not tonight, but he was also sure she would not get better while they were in Denerim. She turned her head as he walked into the room, and that dim, lifeless look was on her face once more... and he decided that he could take a bit of scolding if it got that look off her face. "I am ready, my Warden," he announced, "but we need to get you dressed."

She shook her head, "Just... give me a cloak, and shove my armor in my pack."

"Very well," he said, unwilling to argue and risk waking the others. He helped her sit up again, and pulled out his own cloak, since he was sure she did not have one. He got her wrapped up quickly to try to help stop the shivering, and then packed up her armor. He headed to the window and flung it open before returning to the bed and scooping her up, flashing a smile down at her pinched face, "You know, I have _always_ wanted to do this," he said with a chuckle, and then jumped out the window with her in his arms.

He was rewarded by the faintest of chuckles as her head rested against his shoulder, and her arms weakly wrapped themselves around his neck, "Glad to help." He took the return of her occasionally sarcastic humor as a good sign.

It did not take long to escape Denerim, even with Zevran's careful stealth. Once they were outside, he headed west, following the walls around until they reached where the river ran into the city. On this side of the walls, the water was still clean having not yet run through the urban squalor to be filled with the wastes of thousands of souls. The rain had stopped, for which he was grateful if only because he would be able to make a camp fire.

As he went about making camp, he noticed Zilfayirin pawing through her pack, and paused to watch. His brows rose in surprise when she removed her toiletries, and then headed purposefully to the river... which would be freezing cold... and she was ill... Oh Wynne was going to kill him, revive him, and then kill him _again_! He wondered if he could get away with saying he was following orders... likely not, but he could probably make some comment about her heaving bosom, and derail the tirade. With that plan in mind, he continued about his self appointed task. Luckily there was a lot of grass in this area, so the mud was not as much of problem as it otherwise would have been.

Once he had the fire burning merrily away, and the rest of the camp set up, he looked around for the Warden, but did not see her. He suddenly realized the folly of letting her wander into a freezing river alone when she was so very weak, and bolted down to the river side. He was _so_ dead if something had happened to her! They would _hunt him down_...

A sigh of relief escaped him when he saw her standing in water only up to her knees as she scrubbed herself frantically. He noticed in the moonlight that her skin looked raw... How long had he been setting up camp? He approached the water, stopping just at the edge of it and called, "You are going to freeze, my Warden. Come sit by the fire."

"I can't get the smell off!" she called back. "All that... filth... and suffering... and..."

Ah, so it was worse than he had thought. Zevran quickly stripped his boots and waded out into the water. As he got closer, he saw that her skin was well and truly raw from where she had been scrubbing it. Wonderful, somehow he was going to be blamed for this. Still, he offered the Dalish rogue a smile, "Come now, I have oils that will make you smell like anything you wish, stop abusing your beautiful skin." He touched her cheek and then leaned in to brush a quick kiss over her lips to distract her as he plucked the wash rag from her hand. She was shivering so hard it was a wonder that she managed to keep her feet. He led her out of the water and back to the camp, so she could stand next to the fire as he gently dried her off.

"I can't do this," she whispered once he had gotten her dried, and was gently working a soothing oil into her abraded skin.

"Can't do what?" he asked gently, lifting his head to look at her.

His voice brought her eyes to him, and she looked slightly startled, as though she had forgotten he was there. She shook her head, "Never mind," she said and turned her attention back to the fire, "I'll do it... because I have to," she shivered heartily, "I'll just... work up to it."

Zevran could see that his input was not needed here, so he went back to the task at hand. He could tell that her strength and energy was flagging, as she started slumping over, her eyelids growing heavy. He finished his work quickly, and then fetched her blanket and wrapped it around her. She did not protest when he scooped her up and carried her to her tent, tucking her into her bedroll, trying to make her as warm as possible. She was asleep before he even left the tent.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Sten frowned at the scroll that had been shoved under his door. He picked it up, and unrolled it, for all the good it did him. He still had some faint trouble speaking the Common tongue, and he was even worse at reading it. He unrolled the parchment anyway, and scanned it briefly in the hopes that he could parse his way through it. It was signed with a 'Z', which likely meant it was something Zevran had written, and the Warden would have used her full first name. His attention was drawn away from the note at the sounds of panic coming from their leader's room, and he headed out to find out what was going on.

Unsurprisingly it was Alistair making the racket, and through the hysteria, he discerned that the Warden was missing. Ah, that was likely the nature of the note then. When Wynne came hurtling out of her room, he caught her shoulder, a bit more gently than he would have any of the others, and dropped the scroll into her hands. At her look of surprise, he said simply, "The Warden is with Zevran."

She blinked up at him, and unrolled the scroll, her eyes moving quickly over the words. When she finished reading it, gave a breathy little self-deprecating laugh, "Of course," she muttered to herself and then looked up at the qunari, "Thank you Sten," she said with a nod, and then hurried into the now vacant room to attempt to restore order. The foreign warrior stood outside the door, leaning against the wall as he waited to see how this fiasco turned out.

In the end, she had to shout the others into silence before she could say what happened to their leader... and Alistair immediately made noises about the Crow attempting to kill Zilfayirin. Surprisingly, this annoyed the elder mage, and she snapped, "Zevran was _right_! She _needed_ to get out of the city."

"But _why_?"

"Because, you buffoon, she's _Dalish_!" That was Morrigan.

"So? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Denerim is the first proper city she's ever been in," Wynne was speaking now, having regained her calm, "How would _you_ feel if you had spent your life roaming the wilderness, and suddenly found yourself confined in a city, _especially_ in this weather and stink?"

"I..."

"Some flowers cannot be grown in a hot house," Sten put in without, causing everyone in the room to jump, and look towards the empty doorway.

It was Leliana that recovered first. "You think the Warden is a flower?" she lilted, "Softie!"


End file.
